Perspective Changes Over Time

I was recently reminded of two people from my past. One is now gone and the other may be. They were both older than me.

Met them both at the same place. Denny was about ten to fifteen years my senior, and John was about ten years older then Denny. Denny worked as a mail room employee, filling bags, supplying machines with material. John was a custodian. Although totally different people, they had something in common: most people didn't like talking with them.

In John's case it was because of his hearing. He had been born with extremely poor hearing, and as a result his own speech was incredibly difficult to make out. Most people in the building didn't even try. Not only that, but because he spoke so poorly they treated him like he was stupid. He struggled with that all of his life.

I was one of just a handful of people who would actually stand there and work to figure out what it was John was saying. He would get frustrated with me. Even exasperated, when he had to repeat something for the sixth or seventh time. But when the lights finally went on in my head and I got it, he would relax and smile.

Since I was one of the few people who would listen to John, I became one of a handful of people John would actually seek out in the building. Most of the time it was such an effort to talk with John I actually felt exhausted when he walked away. I think he felt the same way. He wasn't always appreciative of my sense of humor, either. I was in my twenties, and treated a lot of things as irreverent. Still do, actually. He would see some safety issue, and I would see a joke.

I wasn't always nice to John, and sometimes used my humor to end conversations quickly. But if he felt whatever he wanted to tell me was truly important, he would beat aside my jokes and make me understand. I do not know what happened to him. It had to have been hard for him, having people think he was stupid because he spoke with difficulty. The man I knew was actually quite intelligent and given to a good sense of humor.

The place were we worked was a Christian organization, so often my humor was "inappropriate". For instance, there was this time when John closed down one of the women's restrooms so he could effect some repairs. I rushed out at lunch to the convenience story next door and purchased the following items: a plastic bucket; a can of Mountain Dew; a Baby Ruth candy bar. I set the bucket outside the restroom door, poured in the soda pop, unwrapped the candy bar and dropped it in - just as John arrived. He gave me a look. He knew he wasn't supposed to appreciate the humor, but the truth was, he did.

Denny was completely different. Something had gone wrong during Denny's birth and the result was permanent brain damage which affected his ability to ever become much more than a child. He was nearing his fortieth birthday when I met him, but his emotional level was that of an eight-year-old boy. He was an incredibly loyal employee, and took great pride in his ability to run certain mail machines. (His I.Q. was less than half mine, but when I started he was one of the people who taught me how to do things.)

Again, because I paid him more attention than most, and tended to not treat him as though he were an idiot, Denny attached himself to me. This was a far worse predicament than John because Denny had no sense of personal time or space. He was child. He was also like flypaper. One of the threats a co-worker used to use on me was that he was going to give Denny my home telephone number. Denny already had his. And that was the good part about Denny. Being a child, he would be friends with anyone who was willing to be friends with him. So there were several who were suffered upon by Denny.

My co-worker (Paul) came into work one day laughing. I asked him what was funny and he showed me a pen.

What's so funny about a pen?

I'll tell you. Last night Denny called me. I was trying to watch a show. Well, you know how Denny is. So I just set the phone down and every so often picked it up and said, "Yeah, Denny. Right." Then I would put it back down and keep watching my show.

I laughed. He never caught on?

Nope. Well, this morning when I arrived there was Denny, waiting for me. He handed me this pen and then asked me for five dollars. I said, "What for?" That's when Denny told me. This was the pen I had agreed to buy from his last night.

Spouse and I eventually consented to visiting Denny at his home. He lived with his aged mother. He wanted us to come over because he wanted to show us his Matchbox car collection. Denny owned a fleet of every Matchbox car ever made. He had thousands of cars. Every time a new model was released, Denny would go to the store and buy all they had. Paul once told me he was convinced the store deliberately ordered more than normal just because the knew Denny would buy them all.

He stored them in a giant Lego block garage he made from Lego blocks he purchased. I forget how many thousands of cars he had, but it was awe inspiring. And he didn't play with them. He just kept them in the big garage. I asked him how much money he had spent on them and he said he didn't know. But a man had offered him $28,000 for the lot. He just laughed at the guy. He had no desire to sell his cars. But Denny understood the value of money. He was quite cheep.

I recall when Denny got a credit card. My eyebrows went up and I remember thinking, "This can't be a good idea." But Denny was all happy and excited. He had gone to the store, showed his credit card, and got all of his stuff for free! We didn't say anything. What was the point? About a month later Denny came to work just mad, mad, mad. Someone was sending him letters in the mail demanding he give them money. And his mother told him he had to pay it.

Poor Denny. I remember learning the same painful lesson myself.

I feel especially bad about Denny. I eventually became one of his favorites, and as a result one of those who had to deal with flypaper all the time. When we had left his house he hung onto the side of the car talking and walking as I tried to drive away without running him over. We had spent five hours at his house. The last two trying to leave.

Eventually, I would try to avoid Denny. I deliberately hid from him. It wasn't nice at all, and I am not proud for having done it. Denny was just a kid. All he wanted to do was have fun. A couple of years ago I heard that he had died. From what, I don't know.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering if I haven't become another John or Denny: a nice person who just gets to be too much sometimes. I guess that would be a fitting reward.